Waiting
by Indoctrinated
Summary: Some people waste their lives just looking for the perfect fit. TenRose.


A/N: You have _no_ idea how perfectly I know what's going on inside all your heads right now: "Oh, good lord. Not another friggin' GitF tag…Why does _every-friggin'-one_ have to do one?!" I know that, because often enough, I feel the same way too. But, me being me, I continually annoy myself with the ideas that I think up despite simultaneously being madly in love with them. For a long time, maybe even before Transcendence first spawned in my head, I've heard Rose whispering to me, "See that Doctor? That's a perfect fit. Some people waste their lives just _looking_ for the perfect fit. I've found mine, and I'm not about to give it up that easily." Since that quote popped into my head, I've tried writing a story where it would fit perfectly, and I've horribly failed at it until now.

A/N 2: Oh, and you all should know I'm a 100 definite TenRose shipper, so just remember, looks can be deceiving. Hang in there with me for the beginning of this fic, I promise.

A/N 3: This picks up right at the end of GtiF, just in case you don't recognize the quotes right off the bat.

* * *

"You alright?"

He looked up at her, just for a second. "I'm always alright." Somehow he managed a perfectly detached, emotionless voice. Somehow, despite the past few minutes, he strangled down a sob, and somehow, he restrained himself from telling her the truth. Both of them knew it was a lie; no matter how well he was able to disguise his voice, the Doctor knew Rose could read his eyes better than anyone in the universe. He turned back to the TARDIS controls, entering the commands needed to seal the gateways between this world and the world beyond the Fireplace.

She stared right back, and yet she said nothing. How could she understand him so well? Of all people, she knew when he needed to company, and when he needed solitude. And she always knew the exact right thing to say, or in this case, the things to leave unsaid. Over his shoulder he sensed her hesitance, her mind racing for the right words that would fit, and then her frustration when she realized that nothing would fit right, that nothing might fit ever again. She desperately wanted to fix him right now, to say the words that would make it better, but he refused to accept that he had been broken.

After another moment he heard Mickey speak but didn't catch the words. Footsteps retreated down a corridor, slowly fading from echoing clangs to gentle pads, and then into nothingness. He was alone.

As he shifted slightly to the right, the thick parchment of her letter rustled in his coat pocket. He hesitated for a moment, then gingerly reached into the pocket and withdrew the letter. It burned in his fingers. A fresh wave of guilt swamped him he broke the wax seal with a dry crack. Her delicate, flowing script sculpted words that were just the right size and shape to methodically break his heart. _My lonely angel_. He almost broke, right there, right in the console room. He almost lost himself as his eyes touched her words. He'd been called many things in his lifetime, the least of all 'murderer', but never before had he been named as an angel. Perhaps she hadn't known him as well as he had expected; she might have seen his loneliness, but she must have missed the blood staining his hands. If she had, how could she call him an angel? Angel of death, perhaps, but not a hand of God himself.

He folded the letter into thirds again, tucking it back into his coat pocket, close to one of his hearts where it could be kept safe. On the screen in front of him, the flame in the fireplace burned brightly, lighting the world beyond it in a hazy glow. His chest ached as he reached for the button that would extinguish the fire forever. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second; sealing this doorway was only sealing a world that left nothing for him to want, but, despite that, he still felt like he was severing the final link. He tapped the button, and the fire flickered out after a few seconds. It was over.

His gaze danced around the TARDIS, feeling the engines of his beautiful ship rumble underneath him expectantly. He spoke to her after a moment, "You're right, let's go. Nothing left here anyway…" He dropped a lever, sending his ship spinning into the Vortex, but entering no coordinates. "Nothing but a few old rusted parts and bits of crew…nothing left for me…never anything left for me. Curse of the Time Lords alright, eternally lonely…"

A comforting presence touched his mind, but he swatted it away. "Sorry, girl, you can't help right now. No one can, not anymore at least." He sighed, patting the console fondly. "I just need to be alone for a bit."

He turned away from the console, the single piece of furniture in the room providing a respite for his suddenly weary legs. The letter in his pocket burned again, but he didn't reach for it, just let it burn against him, reminding him. He'd keep it there for as long as he felt like he deserved to constantly remember what he had lost, and also to punish himself for breaking his own rule. After a moment, he decided he was being unfair to himself; he hadn't actually broken it. Bent was a more apt description.

The curse of the Time Lords was that they were sentenced to eternal loneliness outside of their own species. Being a Time Lord exiled from Gallifrey by either the Council or by personal choice, the Doctor was forced to seek companionship elsewhere. It was hardly his fault that he'd been born with a soft spot for humans. The consequences of becoming attached to a human, and in turn losing them, were very steep, so heart-shattering in nature that he rarely allowed himself to venture past the grey area of friendship and fall in love with someone. But, when he did allow himself to take that leap every once in a great while, the person he chose was what he could label as 'safe'.Reinette had been safe. That's why he kissed her back, that's why he kept going through the fireplace, that's why he danced with her that night, and that's why he was sitting here now, alone and heart-broken once again. From a far corridor, he heard Rose's musical laughter. Rose. Now she was dangerous. From the moment Reinette touched her lips to his, he knew he was going to have to give her up; far sooner rather than later. He knew he'd have to find a way back to that spaceship in the 51st century. But Rose was different. He'd already fallen for her a long time ago, and the only thing that kept him from falling farther was knowing that some nights, he dreamt about them having a life together. They were mundane, everyday, normal life kinds of things. In all his life, he would have never imagined that he would drift off to sleep wishing for dreams of him and Rose doing laundry together, cooking a meal, driving to the movies. Once, only once because it frightened him too much, he dreamt about what children they might have.

Rose was dangerous because he could imagine a life with her, Reinette was safe because she was someone he could allow himself to love for a little while but always knowing he'd have to give her up. Reinette understood him because she had read his memories, but Rose understood him despite the fact that he kept in the dark about his past. Reinette was a gambled risk, but Rose…Rose was what he dreamed about at night. And that's why he was denying himself the luxury of loving her. For a few years it would be bliss, followed by decades of heartache.

And so he sat here, cursed and alone again, brooding over his loss of Reinette, brooding over the life he could never have, the letter still burning against his heart. He sat there for a few more minutes, eyes resting blankly on the hands folded in his lap. He didn't notice Rose entering the console room tentatively, didn't notice her sitting down next to him, didn't even notice her take one of his hands in hers until she spoke.

"You are _definitely_ not alright."

He didn't look up to meet her eyes. Instead, he just stared at their joined hands, marveling at the sight of them as if seeing hands for the very first time. They were entrancing; he couldn't tear his eyes from their intertwined fingers, palms flat against one another. An automatic reply flew to his tongue but he bit it back. Again, she knew him too well. He wasn't all right. He sighed, eyes still locked on their hands. "No, I'm not alright." A bitter smirk pulled at his lips.

When a reply didn't come, he finally dragged his eyes up to look at her, only to see her staring intently at their hands as well. She laughed, a strange halting bark that sounded halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "Odd how they fit so well. I mean, I'm human and you're a Time Lord but your hand and mine fit together just right." She looked up, and the moment his gaze met hers, he knew he was going to kiss her. It was more of a consequence of their eyes meeting at the exact right moment and them thinking the exact same things. It was because of the five and a half long hours she had waited for him, and because of something he had loved was taken from him again. It was because he felt guilty for leaving her there, and because she knew he had fallen in love with Reinette.

She must have felt the kiss coming as well because she stalled, asking, "Did hers fit too?"

He paled, remembering the feel of Reinette's hand in his. His fingers slipped out of hers, flexing and stretching out of the mold of Rose's hand. Her hand had been smaller, smoother, her fingers shorter but thinner than Rose's. But had it fit too? Could his hand be the perfect match for more than just one person? His mind avoided the one question that Rose hadn't asked out loud, but had been in her voice and in her eyes. _Did her hand fit better than Rose's?_

Suddenly, he reached for her hand again, tracing the familiar contours and lines that fit into his like two pieces of a puzzle. He changed the grip several times, first intertwining their fingers, then cupping his hand around her own, now grasping around the side of hers. After a few moments of carefully studying her hand in his, he said, "Hers fit, but it was a different fit than yours. Hers fit…" He struggled for words, frowning. "It fit like something that was new and comfortable, it was right in an odd way, like it was almost perfect but there was just one thing that made it not meant to fit against mine. Like it was almost meant to be…" His voice trailed off into a deafening silence. For a few minutes, he was able to crush the urge to look at her by mere will power. After that, he was forced to physically restrain himself, using his free hand to hold his chin firmly in place without betraying his intent.

Later on, he'd blame Rose for making him kiss her. All her fault. She'd taken his other hand in hers, the only thing left to keep him from looking at her. Rose's fault, not his. And so when their eyes met a second later, he couldn't hold himself back. With an urgency that surprised even himself, the Doctor hooked one hand around the back of her neck and dragged her – albeit not unwillingly – against him. At first they met one another hesitantly, lips barely even touching one another. Whisper soft glances tested the waters until they grew bolder, drawing breath from one another's lungs with ragged gasps. One of her hands was still clasped in his, but the other found its way between their straining bodies, making a much better use of his tie than its original purpose: an anchor to hold him tight against her body.

Before long, the Doctor found himself pulling her fully into his arms, frenziedly attacking her mouth with a frightening need he couldn't explain. She fought him right back, her fingers guiding him through desperately grasped handfuls of hair. Their kiss was desperate and frantic in all the right ways, besides being a little bit angry as well. They stole from one another everything available to take, sapping away at each other until there was nothing left except for what they had already taken.

It was only when the Doctor found his hand inching its way southward, and Rose's fingers deftly unraveling the knot of his tie did he finally gather enough resistance to pull away, his hands grasping her wrists. Rose looked at him, her eyes screaming with a wild need and confusion, and his own wounded gaze staring back at her. She read his eyes before he even opened his mouth. Too late, he said after several moments of dead silence, " I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He waited for the pain to come, to register in her eyes, to see the tears well up in the corners and burst free as she yelled and screamed at his incompetence, his stupidity, his betrayal of her trust. He sighed, picking up the threads of conversation once again, hoping to stall the inevitable row. "I – I can't do this. Not now. I just – I can't. I'm sorry, Rose." He tentatively picked up her hand, knowing that in only a few short moments, it would most likely be either handing him back her key to the TARDIS or slapping him across the face. It was a comfortable weight in his hand. "I want this…I want it so bad it hurts. But I'm just not ready, I can't do it. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to me, it's not fair to Mickey. It's right, but it's also so very, _very_ wrong. I can't do this," he repeated, more to himself than to her. "_I can't_."

Still not looking at her, he said softly, "I s'pose you'll want to be going home then."

The three seconds it took her to answer seemed to be the longest three seconds of his entire life, as if they dragged on for days as every possible answer and scenario played out in his mind. As all these thoughts crowded in his mind, he heard from somewhere very far away, "No."

He finally met her eyes again. "What?"

What he found was the exact opposite he had expected. He had been waiting for the pain to come, the anger, the resentment for ditching her and going after Reinette. But what he had expected to find before, he would be hard pressed to find now. Here, as she looked at him, her eyes shone with nothing but understanding – even more than what he had found in Reinette's eyes after she had read his mind. She understood him, despite him leaving her stranded in the 51st century for five and a half hours with seemingly no possible way to get home short of a miracle. She understood why he taken that leap through the mirror. She understood, and she still loved him.

Rose looked at him steadily, and repeated, "No." Her hand tightened in his. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm staying. You need someone, and I'm here 'til I die or 'til you finally get tired of me and chuck me out on my arse." She smiled wryly. "I'll wait 'til you're ready, Doctor."

He looked at her sadly. "Rose…you don't understand what you're saying. This," he gestured frantically between them, "might never happen. You'll have wasted a lifetime waiting on something that never came."

She smiled that funny little smile again. "You think I don't understand, and here I am, actually – for once – understanding something better than you." She gestured between them, mimicking the Doctor, "This, even if it comes to nothing, is something worth wasting a lifetime waiting for."

She was silent for a few moments, thinking hard about what she was about to say next, and then she nodded to indicate their clasped hands. "See that Doctor? That's a perfect fit. Some people waste their lives just _looking_ for the perfect fit. I've found mine, and I'm not about to give it up that easily. I'm willing to fight for mine, but you have to be willing to fight for yours too." With that she squeezed his hand one last time and stood up, lingering in front of him just long enough to say, "I know why you did it, why you jumped through the window to save Reinette. And I'm not angry about. A little jealous maybe, but I know your reasons for doing what you did. You did it because you're you, and if I love you, then that means I love all of you. Even the part of you that needs to go swanning off to save fair damsels in distress." She gave him that strange little smile again and shrugged helplessly. "When you're ready, I'll be waiting. Just…remember that."

And then she turned away, leaving the Doctor dumbstruck and mute, and even a little bit awed by what she'd just said. The letter burned against his heart, but not as strongly as before. Rose had seen to that.


End file.
